Parenthesis

Another draggy week behind me
I wrote a song to help me hide it
I took it to my publishers
With a piece of me inside it
They’ll take it to some record man
And he’ll say «The bridge is loose
And the lyric needs some work
And we’ve got no one to do this number anyway
So good day»
And like a fountainhead of sorrow
That has no place for flowing
The part of me that lingers there
Will have no field for growing
And will die there on some dusty shelf
In the subtl suffocation of the part of me I gave
And thn soon I’ll write a song the way the others do
Then I’ll be dead too
And like a fire slowly dying
As one by one the embers blacken
I miss the pieces of myself
That no one ever warmed themselves beside